


Resistance, Resilience

by 3RatMoon



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Dom/sub, Flogging, Hurt/Comfort, Impact Play, Literal and Emotional, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 05:59:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11685522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3RatMoon/pseuds/3RatMoon
Summary: Ephrim asks Throndir to help him work out some complex feelings he's had since everything that happened at the New Archives. (Post S3 Finale)





	Resistance, Resilience

**Author's Note:**

> "It's 2017, everyone's a switch." -Austin Walker probably

“You don’t need to struggle so much,” Throndir said.

Ephrim, strung up naked with his back to Throndir only grunted in response to the ranger’s comment, tugging at his restraints.

The University, though clearly looted many times since it fell, was still the source of a mind-boggling wealth of material. Some of the artifacts were useless, or needed to be studied by the few mages among the refugees first, but more than enough were of good help to the camp, if one thought a little creatively.

Thinking creatively was something Throndir was extremely good at.

The ranger and newly-minted Golden Lance was expecting to spend his time settling disputes and dispensing justice in the camp, but in the end his job was considerably more peaceful. He helped revive gardens, build water filters, make room dividers, fix furniture, invent  _ new _ kinds of furniture, and more. His ability to look at old chairs, bookshelves, and alchemy tools and see new shapes in them became indispensable.

He had to say though, this was his first time making an X-frame so he could later tie his friend up to it.

Throndir frowned. He assumed that the (former??) Silver Hand of Samothes didn’t actually want out of his position, or else he would have given him the sign, or more likely just burnt the ropes off. Still, Throndir wasn’t quite convinced.

The ranger put his hands on his hips. “Hey, I was talking to you.”

“So  _ what _ ,” Ephrim growled.

Realization rushed through Throndir along with a feeling like liquid heat.

Alright, then.

Throndir crossed the room, closing the distance between them in two strides, and reached out with one hand, pulling Ephrim’s head back by his long red hair. The prince made a surprised, choked sound.

Throndir leaned in close to Ephrim’s ear.

“I say something, you respond ‘Yes, sir,’ or ‘No, sir,’” he said, soft like the sound of a bow being drawn, “Understand?”

There was a long silence filled only by the sound of Ephrim’s breathing, made ragged around the edges by the angle of his head. But then he swallowed and said, “Yes, sir.”

Still holding onto the Prince’s hair, Throndir reached out with his other hand, dragging his nails up Ephrim’s side. He watched the prince squeeze his eyes shut, shuddering visibly.

Throndir continued to speak quietly to the man splayed before him, trailing a finger across his shoulders, then down his back. There was a jingle as Ephrim yanked the ropes that tied his hands to metal loops on the frame. “You are going to stay here, and I am going to do what I want with you. You will feel pain. You may feel pleasure. The decision is up to me. You  _ belong _ to me.”

Ephrim was breathing faster, his fists white at the knuckles.

Throndir tugged again, harder. “ _ Understand? _ ”

“Yes,” Ephrim choked out, “Sir.”

Finally, Throndir let go. “Good,” he said curtly, and turned to walk back to where he had set up his tools.

Throndir remembered clearly the afternoon that week that Ephrim proposed this encounter. The elf looked up from his stew, checking the sort-of refurbished mess hall. The others present were far enough away and absorbed enough in other conversations that he felt like they had relative privacy.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific,” he said.

Ephrim looked at him across the table, somehow still powerful and elegant while clearly glowering. “There are situations that I want to... investigate in a more controlled environment. Situations where I am immobile, in pain... Helpless.”

Throndir might have heard the prince’s tone waver at the end there, but he wasn’t sure.

“Okay, and you’re asking me to help you with that?” he asked, “Why?”

Ephrim scoffed. “I’ve heard what you and that Oni man get up to.”

Throndir felt heat rush to his face. That was fair. He and Red Jack weren’t exactly subtle.

“Besides,” the prince continued, “You know me best out of everyone here. I trust you.”

“Oh…” That was actually pretty significant coming from Ephrim. The man was never one to mince words.

“Oh?” Ephrim echoed, clearly displeased.

Throndir laughed a little. “Sorry, this is just the first time I’ve heard that from you. I’m really, uh, flattered I guess? I appreciate you a lot, and I’m glad that you seem to, too.”

Ephrim was looking at him warily, out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh, uh, and of course,” Throndir stammered, “I can help you with that kind of exploration. I have to make a couple rounds today still, but maybe later I can show you what I have and we can set out some ground rules, figure out what you want to do and when, that sort of thing.”

Finally, some of the tension seemed to leave Ephrim’s shoulders. “Okay.”

What followed was a couple days where, in between the two adventurers’ own projects in the University, they built an understanding together, of what they both wanted and didn’t want. Throndir got the idea for the X-frame, which was maybe a bit overkill, but he did like the way Ephrim’s gaze was distant, clearly imagining himself on it, before he said, “Yes. I would like that.”

Red Jack would be proud.

Throndir looked over the tools he set out before their game began. Ephrim was the most interested in the floggers, all made with trailing strips of leather cut to different widths. Throndir had explained to the prince that the difference in thickness made for a difference in sensation as well; the thicker tails diffused a strike and created lighter welts and bruises, whereas thinner tails were sharper, cutting the skin. Of course, that meant Ephrim wanted to try all of them.

There were also a couple thin reed canes; Throndir tested them, listening to the sharp  _ whoosh _ sounds they made, and watching the way Ephrim’s shoulders tensed when he heard them, too. But, ultimately, they were secondary.

Throndir picked up the flogger with tails nearly three fingers thick, and returned to his captive’s side. He reached out, letting the leather trail up Ephrim’s back. The man’s entire body went tense in response, the prince bowing his head and gripping his restraints tighter.

“How are you feeling?” Throndir asked.

“ _ Fine _ ,” Ephrim spat.

Throndir struck him sharply, and the heady thwack of leather mixed with his startled gasp.

“How are you  _ feeling? _ ” Throndir asked again.

Ephrim hissed out a breath. “Good, sir,” he replied.

“Good,” said Throndir, and struck him again. Ephrim swallowed a shout.

Throndir ran a hand down the man’s back, sighing, letting himself relax. Then he squared his shoulders and stepped back.

He scaled back the force of his strikes a little, starting an easy pattern of slower and softer, then harder and more sharply over time. He switched to a different flogger after a little while, raising more prominent welts over Ephrim’s already irritated skin.

The prince had quieted for the most part, reacting with a flinch or a small grunt at most. However, when Throndir reached out and raked his nails across the lattice of welts growing on Ephrim’s back, he made a pleasantly garbled kind of sound, restraints jingling as he flinched away from Throndir’s hand.

“Why won’t you just get a  _ move on? _ ” he said petulantly, but his voice wavered.

Throndir smiled in a way that didn’t reach his eyes, and dug his nails in. Ephrim cried out.

“You don’t seem to understand, princeling,” the ranger growled, “You are  _ mine _ . I will do to you what  _ I _ see fit.”

Ephrim shuddered and fell silent.

Interesting.

Throndir moved slowly, taking his time making his way to back to the table. He wanted to make good on his threat. He could hear Ephrim breathing, steady but forced, clearly trying to keep his cool. He picked up the last flogger, running his hand through the whip-thin tails.

Ephrim was tense, the outlines of lithe muscle clear in the warm light of torches and the last bits of daylight trailing in through the window. Throndir stepped behind him, close enough that the prince couldn’t see him easily without turning his head.

He swung once, hard, without letting the flogger actually touch skin. The leather whistled pleasantly through the air, and Ephrim gasped loudly, caught by his captor’s feint. Then Throndir let the second blow fall, the sound a snap like a branch underfoot, and Ephrim screamed. Throndir couldn’t help but grin a little.

Ephrim couldn’t keep quiet after that. Throndir was swinging lightly enough that the whip-like tails didn’t lacerate the skin, but Ephrim’s back was  _ rough _ – a tapestry of welts over welts. Throndir would usually be screaming by that point, too.

“You’re mine, Ephrim,” Throndir said, and struck him again.

Ephrim cried out in pain, his knuckles white where he gripped his bonds. “Yes!” he choked out.

“You’re  _ mine _ .”

“I’m yours!” Ephrim was sobbing now, struggling less as resistance and more because he couldn’t keep still. His hair was a mess, a tangled veil over his face, sticking to his lips and forehead and some of the sweat on his shoulders.

Throndir stepped a little closer, trailing the tips of the flogger over the prince’s back. “You’ve been very good,” he purred.

“No,” Ephrim gasped, not looking up, “Hit me again.”

Throndir frowned.

“Hit me!”

“No,” Throndir said, all of his previous manner gone, like a spell had been broken. He was tired, and had already broken the skin on Ephrim’s back a couple places. He knew he couldn’t continue on without causing Ephrim a lot more pain. “Ephrim, that’s not what we agreed to.”

Ephrim yanked on his bonds hard enough to rattle the x-frame. “Hit me, damn it!” he roared, but his voice was thick in his throat. His face was streaked with tears, blood on his lips where he had bitten through. When he lowered his head again, it was like all the strength had left him, his body sagging against the frame. He sobbed openly, his ruined back heaving with each breath.

Oh shit.

“Shit, okay, come here,” Throndir said, quickly stepping in to untie his friend. He supported Ephrim against his chest while he undid the ropes. “It’s okay, it’s okay, we’re done.”

Ephrim didn’t resist as Throndir freed him, his breathing still ragged, tears still falling. “Hk… I k…” he mumbled as Throndir checked the marks on his wrists, soothing the tissue with his thumbs, “I killed him. I killed him.”

Oh  _ shit _ .

“No, Ephrim, it’s okay, come here.” Throndir turned him around so they were facing each other. Ephrim looked at the ranger, but couldn’t keep eye contact, his face contorted in a grimace. Throndir supported him carefully with one arm, stroking his hair. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. It’s okay, I promise.”

Ephrim lowered his head to Throndir’s shoulder and cried, and Throndir held him.

After a while, Throndir was able to get Ephrim to his bed, where he could sit down while

the elf covered his back with salve. It was quiet for a little bit, Ephrim sniffing but otherwise saying nothing, but as he slowly came back to himself Throndir was able to engage him in conversation.

“I dunno, I’ve been thinking of trying to hone my tailoring, maybe,” Ephrim said after downing the last of the water Throndir had handed him, “Now that this isn’t in danger of unmaking anything I’m holding onto.”

He waved his arm, handless, capped on the end with the flat whiteness of the starstuff. The mages that Corsica, Throndir, and Rosana trusted with the Book of Life were still working out the details of Arrell’s plan to protect the university by animating the material made by the Stars, but one was able to do enough to close over the Heat and Dark that consumed Ephrim’s hand before it could start taking much else of him.

Throndir smiled and closed the jar of salve, wiping his fingers on a rag. “That would be helpful if you’re looking for something to do,” he said, “People in camp are messing up their clothes all the time, and even though it’s not cold anymore, walking around with your stuff all torn up still makes you feel bad. Lowers morale.”

Ephrim chuckled a little. “Sounds good to me. It will make me feel more useful than going to sermons with Rosana. Even if the people don’t see the difference, I don’t like going around as prophet when I was just being used by that  _ bastard. _ ”

Throndir went very still, and Ephrim must have noticed, because the prince waved a hand dismissively. “Thanks for holding me back before. I know we talked about how you don’t really think straight in that space. But I’m out of it now.”

Ephrim looked over at him, his eyes glowing strangely in the torchlight. “When I saw him, when he told me to destroy the blade, and he told me everything, he said…” he sighed, “He said ‘I am me, and you are mine.’ When he said that, I hated him more than I have hated anyone. I hated him, and I was scared, but I felt… I dunno…” 

He ran a hand through his hair, a frustrated gesture. “I dunno, I felt something else. And that something else was what I wanted to investigate, somewhere safe, with someone I could trust.”

The prince looked over at Throndir, then shrugged. “And here we are, I guess.”

Throndir could see that Ephrim seemed uncomfortable with the vulnerability, but he also looked more relaxed than he’d ever seen him. Having been a part of that, of pulling Ephrim through all of that and back out the other side… It kind of felt more intimate than a lot of things he’d done with other people.

Throndir realized that he had been staring, and Ephrim was staring right back.

“Here, uh, you should have some more water I think,” he said, taking the cup from Ephrim’s hand and going back to his waterskin to refill it.

Ephrim snorted. “ _ Now _ who’s avoiding things.”

Throndir felt his entire face go suddenly warm.

“I mean, it’s alright,” Ephrim corrected suddenly, his voice softer, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

Throndir looked at Ephrim for another long moment. The prince, sitting on his bed with a blanket covering him but back exposed, red and jagged and shiny with salve. His red, red hair was swept over his shoulder, and his eyes, always so sharp, were softened a little at the corners.

Throndir sat down next to Ephrim again, but when he meant to pass him the cup, instead he leaned forward and kissed him. Then Ephrim was kissing him back, all force and intent, the taste of metal in his mouth. Throndir could feel the part of him that made him Golden Lance stir just from being exposed to the immolator’s naked heat, despite having already been sated. Throndir let himself be pushed back onto the bed, tangling his fingers in Ephrim’s hair.

But then Throndir started to panic a little. He pulled back from Ephrim’s lips, surprised to be sort of breathless. “I, uh, Ephrim–”

Ephrim leaned back on one arm, surprisingly resilient for a man who had just gotten the utter shit beaten out of him. “Hm? Don’t want to anymore?”

Throndir tried to look anywhere except at the face of the friend who was waiting patiently for him to respond, his mind racing. “I… I don’t think so.”

Ephrim didn’t look disappointed? He shuffled back, laying down with his head resting in the hollow where Throndir’s shoulder connected to his body. “Don’t worry about it. Like you said, you don’t quite think straight in that place.”

Throndir laughed weakly, more a sigh than a chuckle. “Yeah, I guess I’m not quite out of it, yet.”

Ephrim hummed, his eyes closed. “It’s okay. Can I stay a bit longer at least? I’m still pretty tired.”

“Oh! Yeah, of course,” Throndir responded.

It took him a moment to realize that Ephrim’s lack of response was its own response, content to lay quietly and rest. Throndir finally let himself do the same, letting his head fall back on the bed and gazing at the stone ceiling of his room.

His world had changed so much in the past year, it felt like a dream. Or maybe this quiet at the University felt like a dream, where he was biding time before he woke up to the true nightmare of the Heat and Dark. He didn’t know.

But moments like this felt real. Ephrim was real. Red Jack and Rosana and Corsica are real, and the bonds he has with them are real. He could feel the way they grounded him, day by day, as they figured out how to save the world together, or at least this group of displaced strangers who were now neighbors in the bones of a University long abandoned.

Throndir closed his eyes, breathed deep. That would be enough for now. It had to be.


End file.
